


Redux Trilogy I thru III

by starshine24mc



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-12-15
Updated: 2000-12-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starshine24mc/pseuds/starshine24mc
Summary: Hello, angst-philes, I'm ba-a-ack...Ya gotta love a man who cries on cue. And I can't believe the UST in Redux II-watch that "outside Scully's room" scene once or twice, and you will see that the truth is "OUT" there! Really, Walter, what are you looking at? Fox and Walter's mood music, side 2 track 3.





	Redux Trilogy I thru III

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Lean on Me by Michele

Title: Lean On Me  
Author: Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Spoilers: Redux II (like we all haven't done this one...)  
Rating: NC-17 just because it's boy angst.  
Beta: none, but feel free, I'll take all suggestions  
Disclaimer: Boring but necessary disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised  
Additional disclaimer: Walt Whitman's poem reprinted here without permission.  
Feedback: Please, lots,   
Archive: Put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Summary: Hello, angst-philes, I'm ba-a-ack...Ya gotta love a man who cries on cue. And I can't believe the UST in Redux II-watch that "outside Scully's room" scene once or twice, and you will see that the truth is "OUT" there! Really, Walter, what are you looking at? Fox and Walter's mood music, side 2 track 3.

* * *

Lean On Me  
by Michele

"Please, swallow your pride  
If I have strength you need to borrow  
For no one can fill those of your needs  
That you won't let show."  
            -Bill Withers  
              "Lean On Me"

Walter Skinner felt like a dirty old man. He was trying to have a coherent conversation with Fox Mulder about the insanity currently reigning at the bureau, about Blevins, the Cancerman, and Scully, and he couldn't stop staring down at the other man's crotch.

Mulder didn't seem to notice, though. He was off in a world of his own, his replies to Skinner's comments barely audible and spoken in an almost defeated monotone that tore at Walter's heart. If he hadn't already been half in love with the younger man, the raw neediness in Fox's tone surely would have tipped him over the edge.

For Walter Skinner was a man who needed to be needed. He wasn't a top, a dom, or a master, he was just a man to whom caring and nurturing, despite his surly exterior, were second nature, much like breathing. He always tried to do his best by the people in his life, sometimes failing, but always giving an honest 100 percent. Even in Vietnam, even with Sharon.

But now he felt like a dirty old man.

He hadn't been able to help Mulder this time. All he could do was sit by and watch, and wait. He had been too late to discover what Roush was all about, too late to find Cancerman, or save him, or kill him himself.

He hadn't been able to help Scully either, despite dirtying his hands at the whim of a conspiracy he barely accepted as existing, let alone understood.

"Not everything," Mulder was suddenly smiling at him, and he pulled his gaze up to the younger man's face, noting that even his smile looked tired and forlorn, and wanting nothing more than to take him in his arms.

Then Mulder told him about Scully's remission. He was stunned. Had it been natural? Or had some good come of all the pain? Had he done the right thing? Had Mulder done something? His head reeled for a moment.

"Can I see her?'

Skinner didn't know if Mulder's reply was sincere or sarcastic, but he knew that he cared for Scully enough to try and mend some of the damage done recently by their mutual lies and their carefully concealed-from-each-other feelings for Mulder.

When she gave him a tentative smile, he returned it, knowing they would both have to talk about it, soon, when she was stronger. In the meantime he turned on his not inconsiderable charm, greeting the priest with quiet respect, speaking deferentially to Scully's mother and brother, and asking gentle questions of the good doctor herself, to determine what had caused this minor miracle (She had no idea). He didn't mention her weakened state, or the factors that had caused them-work, the X-Files in particular, and her partner.

She brought his name up first. He was standing close to the bed, and she reached one tiny hand out to grasp his large one.

"Sir, Mulder's been here since the meeting. He's exhausted."

"So are you, Agent Scully. You should be resting. I'll go-"

She squeezed his hand firmly, capturing his attention completely, and in a surprisingly strong voice for one who had so recently hovered so near death, said, "He needs to go home and he needs to get some sleep. Could you make sure for me...sir?" She arched one delicate eyebrow as she emphasized both the word need and the word sir.

That dirty old man feeling was creeping up on him again.

"Please. For me. For him."

That tentative smile again, and more pressure on his hand, blue eyes seeming to look right into him, into his mind and his heart, reading the feelings there, accepting them, and then demanding that he act on them.

He let go of her hand and gently brushed at the gold crucifix dangling just below the hollow of her throat.

"You're Catholic," he whispered, not as an accusation, but almost like he was changing the subject. They both knew what he was thinking.

"Sir, faith demands belief and acceptance, not stupidity and intolerance. Please..." This last was barely a whisper as her strength seemed to fail and she lay back on the bed. Her mother stepped forward immediately, concerned, and Skinner saw storm clouds brewing in Bill Scully's eyes.

"Thank you, Agent Scully. You just worry about getting better-I'll worry about your partner." They shared a secret smile, then he turned, made his good-byes to the family, and walked out of the room, feeling less the pederast and more the white knight.

Fox Mulder hadn't moved from the hard plastic chair outside his partner's room. He had, however, slumped forward, and Skinner saw that he was holding the picture he had given him. His shoulders were shaking slightly, and Skinner knew he was crying.

"Mulder..." He wasn't sure what to say.

Mulder looked up, startled. His eyes were wet but no tears had fallen. Skinner saw a drop of blood on his lower lip, and realized that Mulder had bitten it, and bitten it hard, to keep those tears at bay.

"Sir?" He seemed surprised to see Skinner, as though he had forgotten that the other man was there, as though he had forgotten where he was himself.

"Mulder," This time the words came easy, the unshed tears of his agent, coupled with his partner's quiet request giving him strength of conviction. "Agent Scully needs to rest. She wants to see you tomorrow, but asked me to make sure you went home and got some sleep tonight."

"Scully-I should-I could-uh..." He shook his head, looking more confused and miserable as the words trailed away. Skinner walked over to him and held out his hand.

"Come on, Mulder, I'll drive you home."

"I, uh, I have my car." There was no conviction in his tone. He put his hand in Skinner's but didn't stand.

"You also have a partner who will have my ass in a sling if I let you drive. You've been going on nothing but adrenaline for how long now? Let me help you." Skinner tugged slightly on his hand, trying to get him moving. Mulder was worrying at his lip again, and Skinner wished he could put his lips on that sore red mouth and make it better.

"I don't need help." His eyes beseeched Skinner to give him the lie. Skinner refused.

"We all need help once in a while, Agent Mulder. I can be more than just your boss, if you'll let me. I told you to remember who your friends are. Tonight, I am your friend. Come on."

Mulder acquiesced with no more fuss. He allowed Skinner to pull him to his feet and hand him his coat. He slipped on the jacket, then with one last grief-stricken look at the blood spattered photo of himself and his sister, he tucked it away in the inside pocket. He held up a hand to Skinner, then turned and pushed open Scully's door, poking his head in but not entering.

Bill Scully shot him a dirty look, which he ignored, and Mrs. Scully gave him a careworn glance, but it was the tiny smile and nearly imperceptible nod from his partner that convinced him not to spend the rest of the night in the waiting room. He boxed up his pain into the corner of his heart reserved for it, returned her nod, and let the door close.

Skinner was waiting a discreet distance away, and didn't speak as Mulder walked away from Scully's room. He simply fell into step with Mulder as he continued on towards the exit, matching his pace to the younger man's, and followed him out of the hospital.

Skinner led Mulder to his car, opened the passenger side door for him, then walked around to the driver's side and let himself in. He turned to look at the younger man as he started the car's ignition.

Mulder was staring straight ahead, but seeing nothing. He was rubbing absently at his lower lip with one hand, while the other hand was resting on his thigh, clenched into a tight fist.

Skinner reached over and squeezed the back of his neck, lightly. Mulder jumped, then turned wary eyes on his boss. Skinner simply put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot.

They didn't speak during the drive, and Skinner found the silence awkward. He kept opening his mouth to fill the empty air with mindless inanities about how it would be all right and how everything would work out fine. Then he would glance over at the man next to him, at the red eyes and the shredded lower lip, the bunched muscles in the neck and clenched fists, and he would close his mouth, knowing his words would be useless.

When they pulled up in front of Mulder's building, Skinner turned off the car. He turned to the other man, and they spoke at the same time:

"Sir-"

"Mulder-"

Skinner gave him a nod.

"Would you like to come up for a drink? I mean, I was going to have one anyway, and they say drinking alone is the first sign of addiction." Mulder didn't look at the older man as he spoke, and something like embarrassment made his words sound a little gruff.

"I think a drink sounds like just about the best thing in the world right now." Skinner reached over and brushed his fingers across Mulder's cheek, getting that startled look again.

They got out of the car and entered the building.

In the elevator, Skinner barely managed to keep his face neutral as Mulder, standing next to him, leaned in just enough that their shoulders brushed.

On the fourth floor, Mulder stopped at the door of his apartment and stared stupidly at the police tape barricading the entrance. Skinner stared too, for a moment, having forgotten that Mulder's apartment was a crime scene.

"Aw, hell..." Mulder's voice was barely above a whisper, but the crack of his fist on the wood door was startling loud. He hit the door again, and again.

Skinner grabbed his arms before he could strike again, and Mulder fell forward onto Skinner's chest, catching the older man off-guard and almost knocking him to the floor. Skinner recovered quickly, though, and wrapped strong arms around the other man, holding him tightly.

"Mulder, shhh...it's all right...shhh..." Now all the inanities of earlier tripped over his tongue easily, feeling more right and less like bad cliches. It seemed to be what Mulder needed right at the moment, and Skinner was only too willing to provide, only wishing in the back of his mind that he didn't have to.

After a time, Mulder pulled away, and Skinner was surprised to see that his eyes were still dry. He knew that there was still an emotional storm brewing, and he only hoped that when it came, Mulder would let him be his shelter from it.

"I'm sorry, sir, I truly am. I totally forgot. I guess I should find a hotel..."

"It's all right, Mulder. You've certainly earned the right to forget about this-" He waved in the general direction of the door. "I think we all have. But forget about the hotel." He noticed that he still had one hand on Mulder, just touching his arm, but, as Mulder didn't appear to be uncomfortable with this, or even to be noticing, he chose to ignore the implications and continued speaking. "I can guarantee I have a better stocked bar than any hotel, and I won't charge you twenty dollars for an airplane bottle of scotch, either. Hell, I may even have some of those complimentary ten dollar almonds."

This earned him a ghost of a smile that turned up one side of Mulder's mouth but failed to touch his eyes, which were still large and dark and filled with pain.

"What about the Famous Amos cookies?"

Skinner smiled back at his agent.

"I'll see what I can do."

The drive to Skinner's apartment was less awkward, though certainly not cozy. Neither man was ready to discuss the feelings that were floating between the two of them. Neither man wanted to talk about the events of the past three days in any detail, either. It was still too fresh, too raw, and, while Skinner was more than a little interested in the manner in which Mulder had arrived in the emotional state he was now in, and what part he may or may have not played in it, he was also aware of the younger man's vulnerability right now, and felt he had no right to push anything. The words would come when they were good and ready, and when they did, Skinner promised himself he'd be there.

So when Mulder ventured a quiet question about the Redskins chances this year, Skinner gave him an understanding smile and gave his opinion on the team. They felt there way around different sports, then movies (they had nothing in common there), and then books. Mulder mentioned some authors that Skinner was unfamiliar with, then poets, including Whitman. He was more than a little startled when Skinner recited a line from Calamus:

"Whoever you are holding me now in hand Without one thing all will be useless I give you fair warning before you attempt me further, I am not what you supposed, but far different."

"Leaves of Grass," said Mulder.

"I have a soft spot for Whitman," replied Skinner.

"So do I." Mulder's voice was quiet, and they didn't speak again until they reached Skinner's apartment building.

"Really, sir, you don't need to go out of your way for me. I'm sure-"

"I'm sure, too. Let me do this for you, Mulder." Skinner shut off the car and opened his door. He didn't look back to see if Mulder was following, just hoped that he was, and they entered the elevator together. This time when Mulder leaned into him, Skinner put a casual arm around his shoulders. He felt the other man tense under his grip, but Mulder didn't move away.

Skinner opened the door of his apartment, hit the light switches by the door, then closed and locked the door behind Mulder as he entered.

Mulder had been to Skinner's apartment before, but never as an invited guest, and he felt strange and awkward. He stepped forward into the living room, then just stood, looking around at the art on the walls, the furniture, the entertainment system, anywhere, actually, except at the man who owned said art, furniture and entertainment system.

Skinner dumped keys, change, badge and gun onto a small table by the door obviously put there just for that purpose, then slipped off his trenchcoat and suit coat. He folded them over one arm and approached Mulder.

"Can I take your coat?"

Mulder didn't reply, merely shrugged out of the suit jacket and handed it to his boss. Skinner put it over his own and said, "Make yourself comfortable, Mulder, while I hang these up. Bar's just over there, if you want, or I'll get us something in just a minute." He walked off down a short hallway to hang the coats in the closet, and Mulder turned to the bar.

He was still standing in front of the large selection of liquors when Skinner came back. He didn't look up at the older man's approach, didn't move when Skinner put a hand gently on his back.

"What looks good?" he asked quietly.

Mulder shrugged. "I don't drink."

Skinner nodded, and ignored this statement. "Well, I'm a scotch man myself. What would you be having if we were at your place?"

The question seemed to mystify Mulder for a minute, but Skinner didn't push him, and, after a bit, the reply came.

"All I had at home was coffee and orange juice, sir. I don't know what I was thinking, offering when I-"

"That's all right, Mulder. We're here now. Did you want to try a scotch with me?" He didn't wait for a reply, merely reached in front of the other man and pulled a bottle of Ballantynes off the shelf. He took it to the kitchen, and, when he returned to the living room a few minutes later with two ice-choked crystal tumblers of scotch, he saw that Mulder hadn't moved.

Skinner sat down on the couch, set the drinks onto coasters on the coffee table, and cleared his throat loudly.

Mulder spun around clumsily, startled, and Skinner wondered for just a second about the life that had shaped the man standing before him. The man who was so full of sadness that it affected everything he did, everything he said. He wondered what could make Mulder happy. He wondered if he could. He doubted it.

"Have a seat," he said.

The look Mulder gave him was an odd combination of suspicion and gratitude. But he moved forward and gracelessly fell onto the couch next to Skinner, who handed him one of the glasses.

"To Scully's return to health," Skinner held his glass up.

Almost a smile. At the last minute, some unknown guilt, or grief, or pain dulled the happiness Mulder felt knowing that Scully was going to be all right, but he raised his glass anyway and admired the sound it made as Skinner touched his own glass to it. Good crystal.

Skinner drank off perhaps half the shot he had poured himself, but when Mulder tried to mimic his actions, he found the liquor too strong and he coughed and sputtered, setting the glass down quickly and trying to shake away the taste.

At any other time, with any other person, Skinner would have been laughing. He had last seen the look on Mulder's face on a stray cat he had once seen getting caught in the automatic sprinkler system out front of his building.

"I guess it's an acquired taste, sir," Mulder finally gasped.

"Would you like something else? I could make coffee," Skinner offered.

"I don't want to be a bother."

This coming from the man who had faked his own death, convinced his partner to lie to her superiors about it, came back from the dead and accused the senior director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations of being part of a conspiracy to lie to the American people about the existence of extra-terrestrials, the results of which were lying in a hospital morgue right now, thought Skinner. Right; no bother.

"Not a problem, Mulder."

"Actually, this is fine." He picked up the glass a little warily, took a tiny sip, winced as the liquor burned over his hurt mouth, but didn't choke. "I'm acquiring a taste for it," he said dryly.

Skinner gave him a smile. "Whatever you like, Mulder..." Then, softer, "Whatever you need."

Mulder put his glass back down. He turned to face his boss, scrutinizing the older man's face with an intensity that Skinner was almost uncomfortable with. Almost. He took another sip of scotch and returned Mulder's gaze calmly.

When Mulder spoke, his voice was soft and almost without inflection. "I don't know what I need, sir. I thought I did, but now...with everything that's happened-that's happening...I-I-" His throat worked soundlessly, Adam's apple bobbing up and down and his face crumpled, revealing not the man, but the lost little boy within.

This is it, thought Skinner, and he put his glass down.

"Let it come, Mulder." And he held out his arms.

The first cry rose out of Mulder's throat like a living thing as he fell into Skinner's arms, nearly knocking the wind from the older man with the force of his embrace. Then muted sobs as he cried into the older man's chest, the tears finally spilling from bewildered hazel eyes.

Skinner could feel Mulder's face hot and damp against his shirt, but he didn't pull away. He held Mulder tight, one arm wrapped around his shoulders. He ran one hand through Mulder's hair, carding it again and again, crooning nonsensical syllables, trying to convey strength and security in every sound, every action. He could feel the muscles under Mulder's shirt trembling and jumping, and he squeezed harder, trying to stop the shuddering.

In some ways it was like comforting a small child, but Skinner was all too aware that this was a grown man in his arms-and not just any man. This was his underling, his agent, maybe his friend, definitely a man he was attracted to, and not just physically. Mulder was a brilliant man, a strong man, beautiful in a mental emotional way that Skinner could only liken to a dark hero in a gothic novel. A young Heathcliffe, brave but somehow doomed, maybe.

Or maybe not. Perhaps this was the first step in healing a lifetime of hurt. Skinner didn't know. He only knew that Mulder needed him and he needed Mulder. It was enough for now. There would be time enough in the future to decide where this was going, if anywhere, and time enough to manage the whens and the hows. Skinner would be patient. Mulder had certainly taught him that. Remember the past and take care of the present, and the future would certainly take care of itself.

Mulder's sobs were tapering off slowly, and he had straightened a bit, easing some of the weight off of Skinner. But his grip on the other man was still tight. Skinner just held him, continued petting him, kept whispering reassurances to him. He made no move to dislodge Mulder, and, after a long while, the younger man pulled back, still trembling, eyes wide and starey. He struggled to catch his breath, which hitched unevenly in his chest.

"I-I'm sorry, sir, I-"

Skinner silenced him with his hand, brushing it gently across his mouth.

"Don't apologize, Mulder. There's no need." He locked eyes with Mulder and held him with his gaze as he stood.

"Lie down here. I'll be right back."

Skinner went to the kitchen and pulled a large mug from a cupboard. He filled it half full with water from the tap, added an herbal teabag, and heated it quickly in the microwave. The steam held the scent of wild berries and chamomile, until Skinner poured a hefty dollop of scotch on top of it. Then he stirred in a couple of heaping spoonfuls of sugar, and took the concoction back to the living room.

Mulder was lying on his side, legs curled up nearly to his chest, as if he thought he could fold up and disappear. He was still trembling visibly, and he didn't look up as Skinner approached.

Skinner helped him to sit up, then handed him the cup, putting an arm around his shoulders.

"Drink this. It may taste like shit, but it'll help."

Mulder held the mug in both hands, sniffed at it, took a tentative sip, grimaced, then gave Skinner a look. Skinner nodded.

"Trust me," he said.

It took nearly half an hour for Mulder to finish half of the contents of the mug, and by then the shakes had abated considerably. He set the mug on the table and suddenly found himself yawning.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep, Mulder." It wasn't a question, and Skinner moved to rise up off the couch. Mulder caught his hand, surprising both of them.

"Stay." His voice was low and afraid.

"Whatever you need," Skinner said again. He sat back down and pulled Mulder's head into his lap, letting the younger man stretch out across the full length of the couch. He went back to playing with Mulder's soft, dark hair, and felt the tension bleeding off the younger man under his silent ministrations. He thought Mulder might even be falling asleep, when he heard him say:

"Sir, we need to talk about-about-"

"We'll talk in the morning, Mulder. Sleep."

There was no more conversation. Skinner held Mulder and sheltered him the best he could.

  
When Skinner woke up in the morning, his back was killing him, and Mulder was gone.

 

* * *

 

Title: I'll Be  
Author: Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Series: Redux Trilogy #2  
Spoilers: Redux II (it's the next day, does it still count?), Tooms  
Rating: R  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: Boring but necessary disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, and maybe crying a little, but they liked it!  
Feedback:   
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Summary: The truth is "OUT" there, and Walter's ready and waiting for it, but is Fox? A slashy sequel to Lean on Me, by request- Hi Mary! Hope this is long enough for you! Fox and Walter's mood music, side 2 track 6.

* * *

I'll Be  
by Michele

I'll be your crying shoulder and  
I'll be love's suicide  
I'll be better when I'm older  
I'll be the greatest fan of your life..."  
  -Edwin McCain  
  "I'll Be"

Thank you for everything. Fox.

One line, scrawled hastily on the back of a receipt.

One line, at once as revealing as a bad magician's slight of hand, and as shrouded as a San Francisco morning.

One line that could be the beginning, or the end.

Walter kept the note in his breast pocket all day.

A long hot shower had eased most of the ache in his back, the remnants of a night's sleep on the couch rolling off him along with the water, but bathing had done little for his state of mind. Throughout his morning ministrations, his mind focused on the night before, replaying every detail over and over, looking for errors, looking for answers.

Showered, shaved, dressed, pretending he wasn't wearing the navy suit with the subtle charcoal pinstripe because Mulder had commented on it once, asking him if it was a Hugo Boss. Shined his shoes, slipped them on, holstered his gun at his hip, taking an extra long look at his I.D. badge before thrusting it almost angrily into an inside pocket, suddenly remembering how old he was, how grim his visage and how little hair he had left, and realizing that he had probably stepped over a line at some point last night. He couldn't make himself feel guilty about it, but now he was worrying about Mulder's state of mind as well as his own.

Thank you for everything. Fox

He drove to work on auto-pilot, his mind more concerned about trying to recapture the sensation of holding Fox Mulder, to remember the silk of his hair, the scent of his cologne, the weight of his body. He parked the car and rode the elevator up to his office with the memory of the other man's heat almost palpable on his skin. He gave his assistant a perfunctory greeting and poured his own coffee, pausing to touch his breast pocket just long enough to reassure himself that the note was still there.

The morning was a blur of meetings, each one blending seamlessly into the next, and he couldn't say what they were about. He only knew he gave the appropriate responses at the appropriate times while savouring a slight twinge in his neck as confirmation that he had indeed held the other man on the couch as they both slept. Endless budget debates, crime statistics and financial assessments flowed around him while he contemplated what the note meant, less interested in the dynamic of the latest case files than in the dynamic of Fox Mulder.

Thank you for everything. Fox

Alone in his office at lunchtime, he drank coffee and ate a sandwich from the machine down the hall, not tasting either. He phoned the hospital and talked to Scully, not hearing her assurances of improved health and a swift return to work. He took the note out of his pocket and read it again, not realizing he'd said the name out loud until he did it the second time.

"Fox." He let the word roll off his tongue in a whisper, remembering briefly the only time he had called Mulder by that name. His first case as A.D. for the division that included the X-Files, and he had been suggesting to his wayward agent that he take a vacation. Mulder hadn't said a thing, just looked at him with solemn eyes and agreed. Later, he'd found out that no one called him Fox. He wouldn't stand for it, insisting on answering only to his last name, and Walter had made sure not to slip again. Ever after that, he was Agent Mulder, or just Mulder, but he never forgot how the man had let him call him Fox that first time, even after he had refused to allow Scully to use his first name. He said it again, now. "Fox..."

His assistant intercommed him.

"Sir, Agent Mulder is on line one."

"Thank you, Kim." He picked up the receiver, took a deep breath, took another one, and stabbed the connecting button harder than he had to.

"Agent Mulder?"

"Sir, I was just calling to-to-" His voice sounded tinny and frightened in Walter's ear, and he could almost see the man physically struggling for words.

"I think I know why you called, Mulder." One way or another, the truth would come out, and there was no point in putting it off.

"Sir?"

"You called in sick this morning, and now you're wondering if there were any new files that required your attention." He knew that wasn't why the other man had phoned, but he also knew that no personal comments of any kind would come from his mouth so long as he was speaking on his office phone. It didn't seem to matter how often bureau security assured him that his office was clean, that cigarette-smoking bastard seemed to always know what was being said and done here. Maybe now with Blevins gone, that might change, but Walter wasn't taking any chances.

"I wanted to know more about the case file you showed me last night." Mulder understood the need for discretion probably even better than his boss did, and Walter was grateful for it; grateful, and intrigued by what the younger man was saying without actually saying anything. He thought a long moment before carefully framing his reply.

"I don't know if it's an X-File, Agent Mulder, but I do think it's an important case."

"Yes, sir, so do I. I think it's definitely an X-File, although I'm not sure how qualified I am for this assignment. There are probably lots of other agents that you could choose. "

"I would say you are the only one qualified to pursue this particular line of investigation, Mulder." Walter was enjoying the word play, and he thought he could almost hear a smile on the younger man's face over the phone. His voice sounded stronger than it had when he'd first spoken, and it almost held a teasing tone.

"Have you had the case long, sir?"

"I've gone over the file several times, and I really believe it calls to your strengths as an investigator." Walter decided to up the ante. "Would you like me to bring you all the relevant data?" Maybe not the most romantic proposal he had ever made, but he held his breath regardless, waiting for the reply.

"I could come to your apartment to get it, sir. As I recall, I think I left a piece of information there last night, when you originally showed me the file. I think that one piece could be a key to solving this case."

Walter took the note out of his pocket, unfolded it, ran one finger over the print thoughtfully, almost reverently.

"I certainly hope so...Fox." He heard Mulder's breathing quicken on the other end of the line. "I'll call you when I'm leaving for the day. And Mulder," He paused.

"Yes, sir?"

"With regards to Agent Scully-her situation, and yours-take as much time as you need."

"Thank you, sir...for everything."

Walter heard the connection end, eyes still on the note, replaying the last words Mulder had said like a mantra in his head.

Thank you for everything. Fox

                               *********

 Walter was reclining on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, half-dozing through the news when the knock at the door came. He sat up abruptly, wincing at his back's not-so-subtle reminder that he was getting too old to be sleeping on the couch.

"Who is it?" he called out, knowing who it was, precautionary just the same.

"Agent Mulder, sir," came the reply.

Walter stood, stretched his back and approached the door with something like trepidation, and something like delight. He turned back the deadbolt and opened the door.

Mulder stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, head bowed, studying his shoes. The hall lights backlit cinnamon highlights into his hair, fascinating Walter for a fraction of a second. Then he touched the younger man lightly on the arm, and Mulder looked at him.

Walter took a moment to appreciate the flecks of gold and green that shone like rough gems in Mulder's eyes, and the long dark lashes that didn't seem inappropriate on this man. Then he also took note of the dark circles under the eyes, and the pallor of the skin beneath that.

"Come in, Mulder."

He stood aside to let his agent into the apartment, and he could have sworn that Mulder deliberately brushed against him. Then he shook off the thought as so much wishful thinking, and closed the door behind him.

"Let me take your coat."

Mulder shrugged out of the three-quarter-length leather coat he was wearing, revealing the rest of his outfit-jeans, which Walter had noticed only from mid-thigh down, and a black t-shirt, untucked. Walter could not disguise his frank admiration, noting with no clinical detachment whatsoever that casual clothes on Mulder gave him more muscle definition than his suits, which, while superbly tailored, were still cut in such a way as to make him look slimmer, lankier, somehow.

Mulder failed to notice Walter's scrutiny as his own gaze roamed up, then down his superior's body, clothed in casual khaki pants and a pale lemon button down, open at the throat to reveal the top of a white undershirt. The shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing strong forearms corded with muscle.

When Walter caught Mulder's gaze, the younger man went back to looking at his shoes, handing over his coat without looking up. Walter took it without a word, and slipped it onto a discreetly placed coat rack to the right of the door.

"So, can I get you something to drink? Other than scotch, of course,"

"I don't know, sir-scotch does have its merits. But I better not."

"Well, then, what about an iced tea?"

Mulder looked up then, and almost smiled.

"Did Scully tell you how much I like iced tea?" he asked, and Skinner could have sworn he heard a note of sexual tease in his voice.

"No, she never did." He gestured vaguely at the couch. "Have a seat. I'll be right back."

"When a character in a horror movie says 'I'll be right back', they never are-they always wind up hanging upside down in the kitchen with an axe in their face, sir." Mulder's voice was completely deadpan, and Walter had a feeling he wasn't teasing.

"I will be right back, Mulder. Depend on it." Without waiting for a reply, Walter left the room.

He returned with drinks in hand to find Mulder standing in front of his bookshelf. Clearing his throat to announce himself caused the younger man to whirl around, startled and Walter wondered, as he had last night, if it was him that was making the young man so jumpy, or if this was just Mulder's normal paranoia. Either way, he didn't like it and wished he could find a way to soothe away his agent's fears. Instead, he held out a tall, frosted glass.

"I'd tell you I made it myself, but I'd be lying, unless stirring counts."

Mulder took the glass from him with a smile and said, "I think stirring definitely counts, sir. Any time you stir something up, it's got to count for something."

More word play, and Walter realized that for Mulder, this was the easiest way for him to express his feelings.

"Of course it counts." Walter sat down on the end of the couch, and beckoned Mulder over with his eyes. Mulder turned back to the bookshelf instead.

Walter let him continue his inspection of the books in silence for a minute or two more, then, taking a sip of his own drink-definitely scotch for himself-he abruptly asked, "Looking for anything in particular?"

With his back still to the older man, Mulder spoke, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

"Handbooks and manuals dating back to when you would have first joined the Bureau-you're a thorough person who likes to keep on top of things. Just one book about Vietnam, and it's a picture book of Asian art and scenery. You don't like to remember the war. Tom Clancy, Dick Patterson, Michael Nava-you keep your fiction grounded in reality. Naruda, I see here, and Browning, and Yeats-expensive collector books of poetry indicate good taste and maybe a hidden romantic side." He turned finally to the older man sitting on the couch and gave him a measured look.

"But I don't see Leaves of Grass here."

Walter didn't know if he liked Mulder profiling him like a serial killer, but he replied immediately:

"I keep Whitman in the bedroom."

Mulder had the good grace to blush.

Walter patted the couch cushion next to him.

"Come. Sit. Sportsline is on."

Mulder moved carefully over to the couch, his eyes never wavering from Walter's steady gaze. He sat next to the older man but not too close. Walter made no move towards him, instead turning his attention to the television and taking another sip of scotch.

Mulder set his glass down on the coffee table and also focused on the sports program that was just beginning. He perched on the end of the seat cushion, shoulders hunched forward, looking slightly ill at ease. But, as the announcer on the television began announcing the basketball scores of the day, and Walter made no moves towards him, he began to relax.

Walter gave the younger man room to set the pace. He wouldn't rush anything, knowing that it was Mulder's choice to be here tonight, just as much as his own, and that whatever was going to happen, or not happen, would reveal itself slowly. He could feel emotions that he'd thought he'd successfully buried leaping and gibbering in his brain, back from the vaults and thrilled to be here. A silent self-rebuke allowed him to watch the show, while stealing surreptitious glances at the man next to him.

Mulder's eyes were glued to the television, absorbing the sports information like military secrets. His hands were busy in front of him, forming fists, then rubbing open-palmed down his thigh, then coming together as he cracked knuckles. Walter didn't even know if Mulder was aware he was doing it, but it fascinated him. The television was forgotten as he watched the young man beside him.

Without thinking, knowing he would only second guess himself into oblivion if he did, Walter reached over and took one of the younger man's hands in his own. Mulder had long fingers, but they seemed slight beneath his supervisor's great paw.

Walter felt the tension slamming through Mulder's muscles from his hand, up his arm, and back again. He looked over at his agent, catching his gaze and holding it, his own eyes never wavering. He didn't speak, didn't push, just held the hand and waited.

The moment was long and terrible and wonderful. Walter didn't move, scarcely breathed, just continued looking, getting his visual fill of the man beside him, while Mulder's gaze kept alternating between Walter's dark, sparkling eyes and their joined hands, almost as if his brain couldn't accept what his eyes were seeing.

When he didn't pull his hand away, Walter squeezed it almost imperceptibly, and asked quietly, "Are we okay here?"

Mulder thought a moment, bit his lower lip, then decided. "Yes. I think so."

"That's good then." And he turned his attention back to the sports cast. He didn't look over at Mulder, but couldn't help but smile when he felt the younger man tighten his grip on his hand.

They didn't speak again until the show was over. Then Walter pulled away, picked up his empty glass and stood. Mulder looked up at him quizzically.

"I need another drink, and then we need to talk. Are you okay?" he gave a nod towards Mulder's mostly untouched glass of iced tea.

"Yes."

Walter left him to his own thoughts, but was back before he could begin sorting them into anything resembling coherent ideas. Processing was totally out of the question, especially when Walter sat down next to him and took his hand again.

"Talk to me, Mulder."

"I wouldn't know where to start, sir."

Walter pulled the note out of his breast pocket, unfolded it and tossed it on the coffee table, where it sat as inconspicuous as a scorpion.

"How about starting with that," he said.

"Um, I wanted, that is-" Mulder kept his eyes on the note and away from the other man. "I didn't think I should just leave. I mean, with all that's happened, you might have thought-I just didn't want you to-to be worried."

"You signed it 'Fox'."

Mulder sighed, and his reply was almost inaudible. "It sounds nice, coming from you." Then he covered his eyes with his hands and said, louder, "I can't believe I just said that."

Walter pulled his hands away from his face and smiled kindly at him.

"I'm glad you did. And I'm glad it sounds 'nice'. If we're to go anywhere with this, I don't think I could just call you Agent Mulder." His eyes turned dark and his tone turned serious. "Are we going somewhere, Fox?"

"I don't know...Walter. I'm not sure what I'm feeling right now."

He stood up abruptly and began to pace. "I don't know where this came from-if it's just some sort of reaction to everything that's happened, or if it's a guilt reflex of some sort, or maybe-" He halted in mid-sentence and looked at Skinner imploringly. "I don't know if I can trust my feelings on this matter."

Walter stood up and met him in the center of the room, stopping his movements with a firm hand on his chest.

"If it helps, I trust you."

A moment of silence. Neither man moved. Walter's hand was still pressed firmly to Mulder's chest-he could feel the younger man's heart beating quick and strong beneath his fingers. Then:

"It helps."

"Do you want to try sitting down again?" Walter smiled and let his hand brush down and away from the other man's body.

They sat back down on the couch, and Walter again took Mulder's hands in his own. Slowly, so as not to startle the young man beside him, Walter moved forward until his mouth touched Mulder's lightly. He didn't try to increase the intimacy, merely held his lips gently on the other man's, letting him get used to the idea, letting him decide.

Mulder drew back, looking wounded, but Walter didn't think he was to blame.

"I'm no good at this," Mulder said. "I can't give you what you want. I don't even know if it's in me to give." His breath trembled out of him.

"I won't ask for more than you can give, Fox."

"I'm scared, Walter," he confessed unexpectedly. "Do you have any idea what this could do to you? Your career, your life-I-"

Walter brushed his lips across Mulder's again and said, "I hear you, Fox. I hear what's going on in your head. But what does your heart tell you?" He grinned suddenly. "And I believe that puts us even for romantic cliches tonight."

Mulder smiled back, then quickly pressed a kiss to Walter's cheek. Walter tightened his grip on Mulder's hands but otherwise didn't move.

Mulder cocked his head to one side, smiling at Walter, looking almost bemused.

The kiss on the other side of his face was just as soft, but there was something more deliberate in the caress as Mulder opened his mouth a little, tasting warm skin and rising stubble and liking it.

Walter closed his eyes, felt Mulder pull his hands away and then, a moment later, his glasses were being gently removed from his face. When he opened his eyes, he was staring into wide green pupils that smoldered with something like desire, something like fear.

Walter brought his hands up to Mulder's face, and gave him a far more intense kiss, licking and nipping at his lower lip, then thrusting his tongue into the other man's mouth. Mulder returned the intimacy with a hesitation borne of uncertainty, not revulsion, but even his innocent, almost clumsy maneuvering sent a wave of desire through Walter's body, and he groaned against that lush mouth, his hands moving down to Mulder's throat, then his chest.

They kissed for several minutes, with Mulder growing bolder as his own need intensified. He held the back of Walter's head with one hand while the other stroked up and down the larger man's back and shoulders.

Walter pulled back abruptly, his breath coming in quick gasps that he was pleased to note matched the other man's exactly. He stared hard into Mulder's eyes and slipped one hand around to tug at the hair on the back of Mulder's head.

"Before this goes any further, Fox, again, I'm asking you, are we okay with this?"

"This-this isn't about needing comfort, Walter," Mulder struggled to get the words out. Just the feel of the older man's big hand in his hair was enough to send shivers of wanting up and down his spine. "I'm not looking for a security blanket. Or-or a daddy." This last was said so quietly that Walter almost didn't catch it. But he realized immediately what Mulder was thinking, and he stroked the hand in his agent's hair around the side of his face, catching his chin and tipping it up just as Mulder was considering studying his shoes again.

"Mulder...Fox. When I look at you, I don't see a child. I see a man with a child's awareness. A man who is not afraid to look beyond the possible, who's not afraid to believe."

"Sometimes I am afraid."

"If you want to stop, right now, I will still be here for you. Do you understand?"

Mulder looked at him a long time, and, like a revelation, he understood with crystal clarity just what Skinner was offering him. And it scared the hell out of him. Not the physical feelings, he was familiar with them, was even enjoying them, in his way. Not even the implications of paternal protection worried him-he knew Walter would be his strength without thinking less of him as a man. No, it was the fact that Walter Skinner was not just wearing his heart on his sleeve here, he was in fact handing the whole shirt, heart and all, to him, to Fox "Commitment? I can't even keep fish alive" Mulder. And he didn't know if he could take it. Didn't believe he deserved it. But he had never more in his life wanted to believe than at that moment.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the other man in a fierce embrace.

Walter felt Mulder's warm breath tickle his ear as he whispered, "I trust you."

In the same quiet tone, Walter asked, "Do you want to go upstairs?"

He felt Mulder stiffen momentarily, then, his voice still muffled on Walter's neck, he replied, "Show me."

                             *********

Walter led Mulder by the hand upstairs to his bedroom. He smiled almost smugly when he heard Fox gasp, either with terror, or delight, he wasn't sure which, and at this point wasn't sure if it mattered.

"Nice bed, Walter, does it have it's own area code?"

Walter recognized the wisecrack for what it was: a defense mechanism wielded by a man whose very survival had depended on such verbal walls for far too long. Walter was determined to find holes in those walls, maybe even a door, if he was supremely lucky. For now it was enough to smile at the younger man and lead him with kisses and caresses until he was seated on the super king-size bed.

Mulder looked up at Walter and smiled uncertainly. The grin faltered as he let his eyes roam over the other man's body, and it faded completely when his gaze fell directly on Skinner's crotch.

Skinner had a rare insight as he realized exactly what Mulder was thinking, and where the sudden frown had come from. He hastened to allay the other man's fears.

"Tonight is about getting to know each other, Fox." He held up a hand before Mulder could protest that they had known each other for a long time, now. "I'm not a profiler, nor do I have any "spooky" insights into you-" Mulder gave him a grin at the use of his nickname. He continued. "I can only find out the things I do in ways that work for me. In my work, I've always been hands-on..." He knelt in front of Mulder. "I've always done my best work physically rather than mentally, and I'm not ashamed of that..." He was eye to eye with Mulder now, and he put his arms around his neck and kissed him. "I want to know you, Fox, if you'll only let me..." Walter's mouth muted any reply Mulder may have been forming. He tasted every inch of the other man's mouth, using tongue, lips, and teeth the way Mulder used words, phrases and gestures in determining a criminal profile.

Walter came to his feet shakily and Mulder's eyes tracked him, less wary now.

Walter slowly began undoing the buttons on his shirt. Mulder's eyes grew wide as Walter shrugged out of the garment, then pulled off the muscle shirt he had on underneath it. Both items fell to the floor, unnoticed. Walter moved close enough to Mulder to run one finger across the slightly frayed collar of Mulder's t-shirt.

"I'd like you to take off your shirt," he murmured. He continued fingering the worn cotton garment as he came to sit next to the younger man on the bed.

Mulder tipped his head back as Walter's mouth found his neck and he made a small sound as Walter's hands snaked under his shirt, running up and down his back and chest with rough abandon.

When Walter moved away, Mulder hastily pulled his shirt over his head and flung it in the direction of the door. He didn't protest when Walter pushed him back on the bed, nor did he voice any complaint as the other man stretched out beside him and took his mouth again, one hand on the back of his head, gently supporting it, the other stroking across his chest.

When Walter lightly brushed his fingers over Mulder's crotch, the younger man's body involuntarily arched up under his hand as Mulder pulled his mouth away from Walter's. That wary look was back in his eyes, but his breathing was laboured and he made no attempt to move away. Just looked up at him with eyes so dark and unsure that Walter wanted to simultaneously cradle him in his arms and kiss away every fear, every uncertainty and find every rat bastard who had lied, mistreated and abused Mulder and kick the crap out of them. His eyes flared righteous anger for a moment at that last thought, and his jaw clenched in a grim frown.

"Walter?" Mulder's voice was timid, as was the touch of his hand on the side of Walter's face.

Walter snapped out of his momentary rage and pulled Mulder into his arms, smiling and kissing him gently.

"It's all right, Fox. We don't have to do more than this. I understand."

"I don't want your understanding, Walter. I want to do this-" he waved one hand around dramatically, "whatever 'this' is. I want-" Now his eyes blazed as brightly as Walter's had a moment before, but there was no anger in them, and no hesitation in a voice that had barely broken a monotone all night. "I want you."

The simple statement sent a bolt of renewed desire through Skinner's body, and his pants suddenly felt achingly tight.

"It's just been a long time, Walter." Fox continued. "And I'm not sure-"

Walter interrupted him with a kiss. "How long?"

Silence for a moment, then, returning the kiss, "Oxford," he whispered.

Walter looked at him sharply, trying to judge the man before him.

"It's been a long time for me, too, Fox, " he confessed. "I want so much for this to be right between us, but I-" he hesitated, and in that moment, Mulder took his hand and placed it back between his legs.

"I don't know from right or wrong here, Walter. I don't even know if I want to know. I only know what I feel. And this feels good." He arched back up into the unmoving hand, eyes never wavering from Walter's. "This feels like the truth." He touched Walter lightly. "Our truth."

Walter groaned aloud as Mulder's touch grew bolder, long fingers stroking him through the material of his pants. His own hand was mimicking Mulder's movements, and Mulder was thrusting forward, pushing hard against him.

Walter began a taste tour of Mulder's chest, nipping and licking at his collarbone, pressing his mouth to every part of the bare flesh he could find, until he reached one perfect small nipple, and took it in his mouth, suckling hard enough to make Mulder gasp and not notice when his pants were undone. Walter's hand made contact with Mulder's skin and he pushed the jeans down. Mulder raised his hips to allow Walter to disrobe him completely, only dimly aware of anything beyond what that talented mouth was doing to him.

Without hesitation, Walter moved his mouth down Mulder's body, relishing the taste of his skin, a combination of soap, sweat and something spicy and uniquely Mulder.

Mulder cried out when Walter took him in his mouth, stunned by the actions of his-his what? His supervisor? His friend? His lover? He didn't know, didn't care, could only give himself up to the intense sensations coursing through his body, centering on his cock. His hips came up off the bed, and Walter pulled away, quickly removed the rest of his clothes, then turned his attention back to the young man writhing on the bed.

He draped himself full length over Mulder, holding most of his weight up on his arms, keeping just the barest amount of friction between their two bodies, chest to chest, hips to hips. He grinned as Mulder arched his back, trying to force more contact.

Mulder had closed his eyes, but now he opened them and found himself looking deep into eyes the colour of bittersweet chocolate. He felt something old and rusty loosen up somewhere around his heart. In Walter's eyes, past the teasing glint, he could see both overwhelming desire and layers of concern for him that made him shiver.

"Last time, Fox. Are we okay? Are we going to be okay?" His words came out in a soft growl, like a great cat suddenly given the power of speech.

The quiet question penetrated Mulder's own desires, hitting that place deep inside him that he'd been trying, almost successfully, to ignore. He reached up and with two strong arms around the neck, crushed Walter to him and whispered in his ear.

"No promises. But no lies, either. Just you. And me. And the truth."

Walter saw tears glistening in the younger man's eyes.

Mulder felt Walter's heart beating in tandem with his own.

Desire pumped through two vastly different yet equally powerful bodies, and they relished it.

And then:

"And if you stop now, I'll kill you."

Walter laughed, a crystalline note of pure joy in his voice, then redoubled his ministrations on the man beneath him, and their universe spiraled down in a whirl of arms, legs, mouths, hands, and cocks until their movements became fluid and wordless and one...

 

* * *

 

Title: If You Don't Know Me By Now  
Author: Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Series: Redux Trilogy #3 Spoilers: some Redux II, some Red And theBlack  
Rating: R  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: Boring but necessary disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, and maybe crying a little, but they liked it!  
Feedback:   
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Summary: Shooting for light and fluffy PWP, but Fox just can't seem to get it together, I swear! *L* I think this is the next morning...Mary, are you still there? Fox and Walter's mood music, side 2 track 9

* * *

If You Don't Know Me By Now  
by Michele

"Just trust in me like I trust in you  
As long as we've been together  
It should be easy to do  
Just get yourself together,  
Or we might as well say goodbye  
What good is a love affair  
When you can't see eye to eye?"  
  -Simply Red  
  If you Don't Know Me By Now

Walter Skinner woke up alone. He reached over to where he was sure he had left a certain young agent sated and sleeping, and his hand closed on empty air.

His eyes snapped open immediately, and he reached for his glasses automatically. As he adjusted the wirerims on his face, he was switching on the bedside lamp. Then he turned to inspect the other side of the bed.

There appeared to be an indent in the pillow where somebody's head had lain, although that could have been just his imagination. But the warmth he felt when he pressed his palm to the sheets was real, proof positive that the space had been occupied, and, more importantly, had not been vacant for very long.

Walter slipped out of the bed and into a pair of well-worn sweatpants. Foregoing a shirt for the moment, he quickly washed away the last vestiges of sleep in the bathroom off of the bedroom, then headed downstairs, leaving his glasses next to the sink under the assumption that any close work that would be done in the next few minutes would not require perfect vision. Absently, he noted that while it was technically morning, most sane people would still be calling it night.

The television was on, but muted, spilling cold blue light into the living room. Walter approached warily, thinking that Mulder might be sleeping on the couch and not wanting to wake him. But as he came around the back of the couch, he found it empty. The first cold fingers of worry traced a shiver up his spine. He thought about everything that had gone on in the last two days, wondering what he might have done, or not done, that made Fox Mulder ditch him every time his guard was down, but he could find nothing so inappropriate. At least not in his point of view. What the OPC might think, or the rest of the Bureau for that matter, well, that was someplace he just wasn't going tonight.

A second shiver coursed through him, but not from concern. He felt the cool breeze on his back as he was shutting off the television, and he turned abruptly to find the balcony door open, letting in soft spring air and the gentle sounds of a city at rest, muted noise that he'd failed to notice earlier in his concern for Mulder.

He slipped quietly through the dark room, moving through familiar territory mostly by memory, until he reached the sliding glass panel separating the apartment from the balcony. It was about three- quarters closed, and he pushed it open to step out onto the deck, seeing Mulder immediately. The cement beneath his bare feet was cold, but he hardly noticed as he approached the younger man cautiously. From somewhere in the distance, the quiet rumble of thunder heralded approaching rain.

"Mulder?" He stopped just behind and to the left of where Mulder was standing, arms resting on the railing surrounding the balcony. "What are you doing out here?"

"Thinking." Like Walter, Mulder was also shirtless, just wearing his jeans, and the bare skin of his back was pale in the moonlight.

"Thinking about what?" Walter kept his voice low and even, sensing some distress in the other man, not having to feel the tenseness of the muscles in his shoulders to know it was there.

"Oh, the usual. Destiny. Fate. How to throw a curveball." He didn't look at Walter as he spoke, and his tone gave nothing away. Thunder crashed again, closer this time, and lightning flashed on the horizon."The myriad of experiences that shape a person, or reshape a person, time and time again, until no one can recognize the original man, not even the man himself."

Walter closed the distance between them, ran his hands over cool skin, brought them to rest on tight shoulders. Massaged gently.

"I think it's going to rain," was all he said. He pushed his fingers into Mulder's neck, kneading away knots as Mulder ducked his head to permit him more access.

"I never expected this." Mulder continued to look out at the city as Walter's hands moved over him.

"Are you sorry it happened?" Walter couldn't keep the worry out of his voice. Mulder didn't reply immediately, and when he did, it was as if he hadn't heard the question.

"I never expected to want this." Finally, he turned to face Walter, eyes wide. More thunder, and he wrapped his arms around the other man's waist in a rough embrace. "I never expected you to want this."

"I think you need to work on your expectations," Walter offered him a smile, then kissed the one he got in return. His hands were still on Mulder's shoulders, and he brought them up to cup the back of his head as he kissed him again, this time more thoroughly, opening the pliant mouth beneath his, tasting every bit of the other man, tongue, tooth, palate. A moan, and a slight drawing back, and then Mulder's tongue was in his mouth, doing it's own exploring, and Walter felt the first stirrings of renewed desire. He closed the small space between their bodies and felt a shudder run through the other man's body as their bare chests brushed together.

Mulder unwrapped his arms from around Walter's waist and slid them down to rest his hands on the older man's hips, holding him firmly in place as he thrust forward, signaling his own rising excitement.

Neither man noticed the rain begin to fall as they lost themselves in one another. Walter pulled his mouth away from Mulder's hungry one, nibbled on his full lower lip, then nipped at his chin, dimly realizing that they were both going to have stubble burn, but not caring.

Mulder turned away from the sharp bite and Walter descended on his ear, biting at the lobe, then licking at the spot just behind it, which, from earlier explorations, had proved to be a particularly sensitive area. A shudder jolted through Mulder's body, and the rain came down harder.

Their faces were wet now, as Walter continued his oral tour of Mulder's ear, neck, throat. He licked away droplets of rain from Mulder's chest, then returned to his mouth. Rain fell on their lips and was kissed away.

In unspoken agreement, both men sank slowly to the ground, never losing their grip on one another, until they were sitting together, Mulder very nearly in Walter's lap.

The next crash of thunder felt like it was nearly on top of them, the lightning illuminating the scene like a sudden slash of daylight, and the steady rain became a deluge.

Walter opened his eyes and saw that Mulder's hair was plastered to his head, dripping rainwater down his forehead where the hair streaked across it. He pushed the hair back with one hand while the other splayed out in the center of Mulder's back, holding him steady, even as he leaned forward.

Mulder's mouth reclaimed Walter's, insistent and hungry, while his hands traveled up and down his chest and stomach, scratching lightly, stroking firmly, feeling cold darts of rain splashing the warm damp skin under his fingers.

When he slipped one hand under the waistband of Walter's sweatpants, the older man pulled back abruptly. Mulder's gaze scanned his face, trying to determine the problem, and not finding one-or at least not one that he was the cause of. Walter was fairly panting, and was beyond full sentences at this point, but was able to make himself clear with a single word.

"Rain," he gasped

"Inside," came the reply.

Walter hauled Mulder to his feet, but took one more moment before leading him inside, out of the storm, to relish the feel of his hard body pressed tightly to him. The weather seemed to have heightened all his senses, the combination of cold rain and hot skin under his bringing him close to the edge in a way he hadn't experienced since he was a kid.

He kissed Mulder hard, biting at his lips, then dragged him back into the apartment.

Once inside, a decision had to be made.

"Bed," demanded Walter.

"Couch," Mulder insisted breathlessly. "Closer."

Walter found himself unable to argue with that kind of logic. He stumbled backwards, towards the living room, pulling Mulder along with him, never losing his footing, but coming perilously close a couple of times. When his body made contact with the back of the couch, he stopped, but Mulder kept moving forward, crushing him between the cool leather of the couch and the hot flesh of the man in front of him. Mouths came together and Walter turned their bodies so that they were moving again, using the back of the couch to guide them as he lost himself in the kiss.

When they reached the end of the couch, Walter spun the other man in a moment from a Fred and Ginger movie, and pushed him back over the arm of the couch, sending Mulder sprawling across the expanse of leather.

The weather still grumbled outside, and a bolt of lightning illuminated the room. Walter looked down at Mulder, who gazed back with a look of utter trust combined with desire that fairly made his eyes glow.

Walter came around to the front of the couch, barked his shins on the coffee table, which made him swear under his breath, then knelt and reached for the buttons on Mulder's jeans.

Mulder shifted his hips and was naked in short order.

He reached again for Walter's pants, but the older man moved back, away from his questing fingers, and rested his head on Mulder's hip, his lips a breath away from the younger man's burgeoning erection. Mulder groaned and twisted, and Walter placed a kiss on the crease between his leg and torso, then licked a trail up to his stomach, heating rain-cooled skin with his tongue, tasting salt and sweet, hair and skin, water and fire.

Down the other side, still deliberately avoiding Mulder's cock, licking the inside of his thigh instead, then biting hard enough to leave a mark and make the other man cry out. He soothed the spot with his tongue, and pushed Mulder's legs apart, making room for himself as he climbed on to the couch and out of his sweats, leaving them in a heap on the floor.

One foot rested on the floor and the other leg was drawn up and pushed hard against the back of the couch as Walter insinuated himself between Mulder's legs, still on his knees. He dragged his hands up the younger man's long torso, nails scoring lightly over stomach, ribs, and pectoral muscles. He found Mulder's nipples by touch, and pinched them as he placed his mouth just over the head of his straining erection.

Mulder nearly came off the couch at the combination of sensations that were assaulting not just his body, but his mind, and, as frightening as it was to contemplate, his heart. He bucked into Walter's mouth, and felt the older man's hands shift back down to hold his hips in place. He groaned aloud in frustration as Walter's mouth moved off him and back to his legs, kissing, nipping, licking. He reached for the other man's head, felt his hands batted away, and groaned again.

Walter slipped his hands under Mulder's hips, shifting them up and back just a little. He brought one hand back to Mulder's cock and stroked firmly, letting the other hand hold him up, one finger pressed to the base of his spine.

He kept his movements slow and careful, remembering Mulder's earlier trepidation, as he slipped his hand lower until that same finger was circling Mulder's opening, lightly, but deliberately. He took him in his mouth again, and pushed into him at the same time.

"Oh, god..."

Again Walter pulled his mouth away, and added a second finger as he dragged himself up Mulder's body so that they were face to face. He twisted his hand and was rewarded with a cry of pleasure as Mulder wrapped his arms around him and buried his head in his shoulder. His breath was warm in Walter's ear as he whispered, "What are you trying to do to me?"

"I want you to believe, Fox." And he twisted his hand again.

Mulder was beyond words, reduced to mindless cries as waves of pleasure crashed through his body like lightning, like thunder.

Walter's other hand snaked down between their bodies to grasp both of their cocks in a strong but controlled grip. He stroked them together and shuddered in tandem with Mulder, realizing that he was as close to orgasm as the other man.

A third finger, two hard thrusts, and Mulder cried out his name, jerking and bucking into his fist, his orgasm bursting through him like water through a dam, and as Walter felt the hot slickness coat his fingers, he came too, lightning flaring behind closed eyes as he fell forward, pulling his hands away from the other man, gasping for air.

When he came back to himself, he looked down at the man beneath him, and realized he could see him much clearer now-dawn was approaching. And the rain had stopped.

Mulder raised a trembling hand to Walter's face, cupped it gently, and whispered, "I don't think I can just leave a note this time."

"I hope not." Walter kissed him gently, then gave him a stern glance. "If you're not ready for this, Fox, now is the time to tell me."

"You know I can't even keep goldfish alive," was the response.

"Neither can I. That's irrelevant."

"I've never felt this before. Everything that happens now, everything that comes after this moment, it's going to be different, and unknown-"

"Isn't that your specialty?" He grinned, and kissed him again.

"I guess we'll find out. Walter?"

"Yes."

"I think- I think it's time to try and keep some fish alive."


End file.
